Involuntarily Uncooperative
by Ceillean
Summary: Imagine Kyp Durron and Jagged Fel out for a few drinks. Amusing fun. You'll laugh -- I guarantee it.


"You call it madness", Jag shrugged, "but I call it love."

And I swear by the Force I could see little pink hearts popping out of the man's eyes. Everyone had known about Jag and Jaina besides Jag and Jaina. You could have thrown a ten pound brick at their heads with inscribed words _YOU'RE IN LOVE_ and they wouldn't have grasped it.

Talk about dense.

Jag and I sat together in the _Southern Underground_, a bar/café/funhouse (call it what you will) in the seedier parts of Coruscant-down-below. A motley crew of thugs, smugglers, drug dealers, you name it came here to lay low for a while, enjoy the view and all that and while at it, drink their minds into oblivion. The place had the best ale credits could buy.

It was a hive of busyness, which was one of the main reasons we came down here in the first place. Too many people, too many different faces – no one paid attention. Here you could put your feet up and enjoy your drink like any other average being. No one would come up to pester you, ask you questions, demand answers.

Here you were _normal_.

People like us, we don't get normal very often.

But in between all the crap we have to take, we do have to deal with normal problems once in a while.

Jag, for instance. A drunk fool in love.

There was no way in the nine Corellian hells that I could drink Jaggy-boy under the table. So while he sat staring into his ale with a big fat grin on his face, I knew he was getting to that certain stage where walking out of the bar on his own was going to be a problem.

And me? I could barely sit up straight. But even down here I told myself I had a reputation to uphold. I was _not_ going to fall off my chair. The good thing was that no one would give a damn if I did but my ego wouldn't like that, now would it?

I gripped the table to steady the moving room around me. Until the waitress returned with another round – courtesy of Jag Fel in that lovey-dovey mood of his.

The waitress was a looker, I have to admit. She swayed those hips back and forth, smiled and batted her eyelashes, flung her long blond hair over her shoulder. Which male in his right mind would not take a good hard look at such a beautiful woman?

The answer?

Jag Fel in love. He kept staring into his ale as if answers to all questions of the universe lay right there, just a swallow away.

"She's perfect, you know." He called over the music, leaning forward so I could hear him better. I really couldn't understand a word but it didn't much matter. Not only could I read his lips but he kept repeating himself over and over again. I lost count how many times I had to listen to how perfect Jaina Solo was.

"Yeah, I know. You've told me ten times already."

He glanced up, his eyes almost black in the dimly lit club. "Your speech is impaired."

Can you believe it? Even in a drunken state, the man still uses big words!

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, you mad man."

"Mad?"

"All men in love are mad."

"What about women?"

I took a gulp of my ale and chuckled. "They're always mad."

I have to admit I was rather glad my significant other wasn't anywhere in the vicinity. So you see, I do know what Jag was going through. I am older than he is and therefore much wiser – the man should listen to my words.

He doesn't though. Much too stubborn for that, which is a good thing actually. I tend to have reckless ideas at times. Understating the fact, really but who cares?

The waitress came by a second time and brought us another round on the house. Jag drained his glass, I nipped at mine feeling sick to my stomach. I knew this night wasn't going to be kind to me and I had promised Jaina to bring Jag home safely.

How, I ask you?

_How?_

It looked like it was going to be the other way around. There was an intimate revolt going on in my innards – I swear a war broke loose. The food was discussing with the alcohol: should we stay or should we go?

Jag decided that we leave the moment I knew that if I moved, I'd throw up halfway across the table. I closed my eyes and took care while shaking my head. I didn't even need to say anything – Jag sat back and laughed at me. Then the idiot punched me in the arm.

"You don't look too well."

"Shut up."

"Do I need to drag your sorry butt home?"

Isn't it unfair? Here sits Jagged Fel, having drunk double the amount I had – it wouldn't have surprised me if it had been half the damned bar – and he spoke clearly, he sat straight and he grinned at me.

At that moment, I hated him.

"Leave me alone."

The urge to sleep overcame me then. I couldn't help it. My muscles went slack, my head felt ten times heavier than usual – I remember a thud and then I was out.

Can you believe it? I passed out on the kriffing table.

***

I wandered back into the land of the living hearing voices all around me. Some whispered, some spoke loudly, others laughed and some yelled at each other and all this in a multitude of different languages. I tried opening my eyes but that was harder than expected. My body wasn't obeying. Not really.

I managed to breathe.

Good, yes?

After what seemed like a lifetime of listening to these odd sounding voices, I realized I wasn't standing.

See, using the Force while drunk out of your mind doesn't work. To all those people out there who consider us Jedi to be almighty and unbeatable – it's not true. Just lies being fed to make us seem perfect.

Well, to hell with that.

Perfect is something else all together.

A soft bed and silence – now that's perfect.

I felt a slithering of dull pain in my right shoulder. It felt like it'd grown a pair of feet and now walked around my arm and right into my wrist. That's when I used all the strength I still possessed in my state of utter drunkenness and ripped my eyes open.

I groaned when I realized where all the voices came from. Jag had dragged my sorry butt onto a public transport back topside. People didn't pay too much attention – there were a few teens who pointed at us and one of the girls waved. I couldn't help the stupid grin on my face then – or the drool collecting at the side of my mouth.

"I see you're awake." I heard Jag's amused voice.

My arm was slung over his shoulder and since he'd literally dragged me all the way, that's why my arm hurt. And this little fact made me think about my boots. I paid a fortune for these things and silently, I swore to Jag I'd kick him in the butt if my boots had a single scratch.

"And you're heavy. Can I drop you now?"

It took a long while for me to process what Jag was saying. Drop me? That didn't sound good at all. Too late did I realize that he'd already let me go. I found myself sprawled on the floor of the transport, with people staring and pointing.

Yeah, we were definitely on our way back top-side.

Coruscant-upper-levels don't know how to have fun.

A small glint of satisfaction glistened in my eyes, though. Jag swayed on his legs, even if only a little. He held on to a pole with one hand, looking down at me. I lay on my back with my hands on my belly, grinning like the idiot I can be all too often.

"This view doesn't do you credit, sweetheart." I drawled and laughed. I could hardly recognize my voice. Dark and scratchy.

Don't chicks dig the dark and scratchy, though?

The thought made me grin again.

I felt the tip of Jag's boot dig into my side. "Get up, old man."

I managed to sit up. But I didn't really have a choice in the matter. I had to get up because the transport arrived at our stop. I looked through the windows, recognizing tall spires and buildings – you could even see the Jedi temple from this altitude.

Beautiful, stupid, annoying Jedi temple.

Nowhere near my home.

"Where are we?" I asked with a frown.

"On our way home. Up with you." He about yanked my arm out of my socket, I swear.

"Do you get kicks out of almost breaking my arm?"

Jag's lips curved into a grin. "The great Kyp Durron is worried I could break his arm?"

I tore away from him, stubborn to the last. Screw him, I could go on without his help. I didn't want or need his help in the first place.

So I stood on wobbly legs. The doors opened when the transport set down on the landing pad. I walked out, breathed in cool night air.

I took a step out.

And then tripped over my feet and fell flat on my face.

Wonderful.

***

I scratched my left cheek. It burned like a [insert various curse words here].

At least I was back on my feet, glaring at Jag because he laughed at me. He does that a lot when he's drunk.

So anyway, we were on our way to _his_ place. And all I wanted to do was go home because my bed was calling for me and I yearned for it. But Jag wasn't having any of it.

"I'll have you picked up." He said but at the time I wasn't listening. I was concentrating on not tripping or falling. I did my best to seem like an average human being on a night out. I think I was doing too much, though.

Jag did a double take, then frowned. "Wipe that idiotic grin off your face, Durron. You're scaring people."

Maybe he was right.

I did not wipe the grin off my face. I made it worse.

It got me into a good mood, that should count for something.

I realized that we were only a few minutes away from Jaina's private domain. Nothing fancy, just a small remote apartment near the Jedi temple. On a normal day, we would have been there in under five minutes but this day wasn't normal at all.

My stomach heaved. I stopped in my tracks, counted backwards from ten and calmed myself. Force, I felt sick. It made me vow never to go drinking with Jag again. But I've said this before and what did I do? I went out drinking with Jag.

From a certain point of view, it's all his fault really. It was his suggestion, he wanted out for a while. So did I but that's beside the point.

Jag grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. I started to whine like a kriffing baby.

I'm not embarrassed. Uh-uh. Nope.

Maybe a little.

What a picture the two of us must have made. We were dressed casually, so recognizing us (unshaved and disheveled, smelly no doubt) wasn't going to be a big deal. Hopefully. Still, the short man dragging me along because I felt like crap – hopefully no one had a holocamera on us.

The press would have field day.

When we finally made it to the building in question, some eighty stories high, I slumped with relief. My legs wouldn't have carried me much further anyway. Jag opened the front door of the building and I glanced down the hall.

I would have to walk the entire distance to the turbo lifts.

That was definitely going to be a real mission for me, let me tell you. Because in between the stomach flip flopping around, my head buzzing and my legs feeling like jelly, the whole walking thing was going to be a problem.

And I had promised Jaina to get Jag home safely?!

What the heck had I been thinking?

As if from far away, as in really far away, I heard Jag say something about someone picking me up again. Even though my brain was all fuzzy, there was only one person Jag could call to pick me up. And she'd make fun of me until my dying day. My significant other. My Liz.

Force help me.

***

Eventually, we actually made it to the apartment. There was a lot of yelling, dragging and I do believe kicking involved. On Jag's part. I was involuntarily uncooperative.

I wasn't feeling well at all. It was like falling into this big black hole and inventing new curse words as I went.

Bluntly put, I felt like shavit.

And here was Jag still standing, his normal quiet self. I invented curse words for him, too.

He'd gotten me back onto my feet when we reached Jaina's front door. She stood with raised brows and one hand perched on her hip, smiling a little. I tried to wave.

It didn't really work out too well. I actually tried to say hello, too.

I think that did work, though.

"Hey, Kyp. You look like hell."

"I feel like hell, too." I answered when Jag dropped me – again! I lay behind the sofa, in a heap of nausea and the smell of alcohol. I wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded insanely good.

I closed my eyes and wished I hadn't. Even then, everything started to spin. My stomach revolted again so I forced myself into a sitting position, pulling my knees to my chest and laying my head atop my knees. I sat there for a long while.

A very long while.

I heard Jag and Jaina smootching. That was odd, to say the least. They whispered and laughed, giggled.

Dammit, he should have been even more wasted than I was!

The bastard.

"You okay?" Jaina knelt before me with a glass of water in her hand.

"Do I look okay?" I asked in that scratchy voice again.

"No. But you smell worse. Drink?"

I shook my head and closed my eyes. Drinking or eating didn't sound good at this point.

Not good at all.

How much time passed? I have no idea. I heard the holonet running in the background. A news coverage, I believe. Jag was talking in hushed tones, on his comlink. Jaina was in the kitchen. She brought a damp cloth and smashed it into my face.

Sweet Jaina. Gotta love her.

"You know, you don't have to stay on the floor." She said and I detected real worry in her voice. It warmed me, to tell the truth.

"Moving is not good." I breathed. I started to hiccup and that was a very bad sign. "I think I need to use the fresher."

Even through my personal hazy hell, I saw Jaina grin.

It was like she and Jag were in this together, I swear! A conspiracy theory!

Distantly, I heard the door chime. I debated whether or not to get up and drag myself to the fresher. It might have been a good idea because my dinner from earlier didn't want to stay put.

I squeezed my eyes shut, took deep breaths and just counted. To distract myself, I suppose. And then I felt cool hands grasping mine and I looked up.

I smiled. "Hi, Beautiful." I whispered.

The smile Liz shot me would have knocked me off my feet, had I not already been sitting on my butt. She cleared her throat and shot me a typical Liz look. The one that told me she was doing her best not to giggle or some such.

"Hey there, Handsome."

"Not so much."

"I think we should get you home."

I nodded then shook my head. "I don't wanna move."

"You're going to have to."

"I'll stay right here. On the floor."

"The couch is more comfortable." I heard Jag. I looked up and there he was, leaning over the couch and smiling down at me. I wanted to punch him.

So. Un-kriffing-fair.

They talked some more. I wasn't listening. I was losing the fight with my stomach.

I grabbed Liz' hands and squeezed. "You love me, right?" I asked, trying to smile, hoping my smile didn't look like something out of a horror flick.

"Of course." She said, her brow crinkled.

"Whatever happens, you'll still love me, right?"

She narrowed chocolate brown eyes. "Don't you even dare thi—"

Too late.

As I said, I lost the fight with my stomach.

Sorry sweetheart.


End file.
